


Parallel Lines (Never Touch)

by Percygranger



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Everyone Is A Drama Queen, Everything I know about figure skating I learned in this fandom, Gen, M/M, Sad Ending, Spanking, Victor Is An Asshole, Yakov is a surprisingly nice man, Yuri is a scheming schemer, although he shouts a lot, possibly excessive dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 05:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10757895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percygranger/pseuds/Percygranger
Summary: These are the facts: Yuri Plisetsky is mean. Yuri Plisetsky is ambitious. Yuri Plisetsky wants Victor Nikiforov's attention.Yuri Plisetsky is also afraid of the future.What if he figured out how to get Victor as a coach before the Katsuki Incident?





	Parallel Lines (Never Touch)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/gifts).



> Merit, darling, I hope you enjoy this humble attempt at fic for you. I tried to make Victor darker, and Yuri said "Hell no, this is my show!", and thus, you have this fic.
> 
> Many thanks to desiderii for her priceless encouragement, subjunctive for a once-over, and a few word wars besides.

It was easy for Yuri to ignore Yakov’s usual lecture as they sat in the kiss and cry, as Yuri counted down the seconds until his scores came in. His coach was more incensed than usual over the quads. It seemed pointless, forbidding him from doing something he already could do, so what if it was more dangerous? 

 

“Quads already?” A familiar voice interrupted.

 

Yuri looked over to see his nemesis, his future goal, his hated rival, Victor Nikiforov, grinning inanely. Yuri sneered, his head jerking up. “Why shouldn’t I? I can. I’m better than all the others here.”

 

“You’ll ruin yourself before you’ve even begun!” Yakov protested. 

 

Victor’s eyes narrowed, the grin making it look mischievous rather than menacing. Although Yuri doubted Victor could pull of menacing, honestly. But something in Yuri went still, paying more attention. 

 

“I bet you could beat everyone this season with just triples.”

 

It was a clear challenge, obviously a manipulation. Yuri was not going to let it lie without responding. “And what do I get if I do?”

 

The grin pulled wider. “I’ll choreograph your opening program for your senior debut! You know I’m the best. I’ll make you the best, too.”

 

They both ignored Yakov’s groan of disgust and consequent mutters about ‘overblown egos’ and ‘stupid boys’.

 

Yuri took a moment to consider, stretching the time out for suspense. “You have a deal.” 

 

Victor matched Yuri’s serious expression with a Cheshire cat’s smile. “Good luck, little boy.” 

 

*&*&*

 

Victor skated smoothly across the ice, his posture perfect, arms held out as though he were a statue, not a living being. Yuri watched with intent focus, memorizing each movement, imagining himself in that body, although he’d seen this routine dozens of times by now. The Grand Prix was here, and Yuri wasn’t about to miss another gold medal by the man he intended to beat someday.

 

The best way to do that, of course, was to understand him. Victor trained hard, obviously, obsessed with perfection, and had hammered his natural talent into almost flawless physicality. The mind was harder, of course, Yuri was almost constantly baffled by the congeniality of his elder. How did he manage to give other people the impression of grace. How did he not snap in anger at others when they were stupid? 

 

Surely he had the same anger underneath it all as Yuri did. Surely he hated the screaming fans, the reporters, the constant eye of the media, the world on him. The endless patience had to be a front over something deeper, darker. 

 

Victor had something Yuri lacked, and Yuri hated this, craved it for his own. He would reveal Victor’s darker side, learn his strengths, and match it, beat it one day, he was determined. And recently, he’d come to the conclusion that the best way to beat Victor was ask him to be his coach. 

 

The only problem with that was, once Yuri had decided, and brought it up, Victor had smiled, vague and vapid, nodding along, then went away again, utterly forgetful. Yuri refused to be forgotten for much longer. He was the best of the juniors, and he would be the best of the senior division as well, next year. 

 

It had taken some cringe-worthy research to find out just what he could offer Victor. What he could do that no other skater could, no other person would. Victor was known for being a playboy, a new woman on his arm every week as decoy and shopping partner, the men less noticeable, never really talked about. How he managed the energy for all that with the ridiculous training schedule, the hours of work they had to put in just to keep in shape, Yuri had no idea. 

 

Obviously he preferred men, something only the most famous could get away with. But what traits did he like in his partner? What would make Yuri irresistible, and tempt Victor enough to become his choreographer, if not his coach? Yakov was fine, honestly, but Yuri needed more now. So Yuri had watched, cataloguing every movement, every expression, real or false, and realized a few things. 

 

Victor was obsessed with perfection on the ice, in himself at least. He loved surprising others, not just on the ice. Despite having a certain media presence, he constantly innovated, trying new colors, new styles, new types of women, new brands. His sponsorships changed almost as often as his sunglasses. He was approachable, kind, willing to deal with fans in a way most celebrities weren’t. 

 

And Yuri could offer another way to experience both of those things. He could take Victor’s advice, be nicer to his own fans, that would soften the man to him. On the ice, his technical skill was incredibly high for his age, at least until puberty hit. Yuri clenched his teeth at the thought, then carefully unclenched them. He was new, although he’d been around Victor for years now, skating in the juniors, he was about to make the leap to the seniors. Yuri had potential, he was an unknown, ready to develop new skills, new artistry, a new posture towards the world. It seemed likely that these would be something to hold Victor with, once Yuri had truly caught his attention. And how would he do that? 

 

Yuri grimaced. That was the hard part. He’d won his competitions with triples, and that hadn’t been enough, Victor’s blank stares easy enough to read, the promise of a program just another random set of words that had spewed out of his mouth. 

 

The idea crept up on him, dark and ugly. Yuri was new in another way. He’d never had sex, or dated anyone. Again, when would he have time for it? And besides, he wasn’t interested, really. Most people were just stupid, so why would he bother to try to ingratiate himself with them for sex? The whole process seemed disgusting, honestly, lots of bodily fluids for a physical high he could basically get skating. And all the risks associated, ugh. Going to the doctor was not something Yuri enjoyed.

 

But, they had the same schedule, almost, which would make the time issue easier. Them being fellow skaters would easily excuse being near each other so much. And Victor liked new things, surprises. He also like to tease Yuri, make him feel uncomfortable, even as he helped teach him at times. This could be applied to more than skating, Yuri was almost certain. Offer Victor the chance to be with a virgin who wanted to learn, who would someday match him in competition, and who would surprise them both in bed, since he had no idea how he himself would react? Who wanted to be perfect on the ice in the same way Victor did? And, Yuri mused, Victor had taken up with younger men before, but seemed to prefer those his own age, mostly brunets. He could offer to shatter that mold as well. He would be a novelty to Victor’s experience, and as that flame burned out, their professional relationship could continue. At least, that was the plan.

 

So yeah. Sex was gross, but he thought if the outcome was Victor’s attention, his advice, his mentorship and support, then Yuri could deal with it. 

 

*&*&*

 

Kicking a bathroom stall door in to berate the loser with  _ his name _ was a whim inspired by the obvious tears in Katsuki Yuuri’s voice, but it only made him more certain of his path. He was the best Yuri, which meant he deserved the best, and everyone else could go suck it. 

 

*&*&*

 

It was sheer chance that Yuri was being forced to share a room this competition, because the hotel had overbooked, and even their famous customers had to deal with the fallout. It might give Yuri a chance to be close to Victor, but damn if the man wasn’t annoying in how much he primped.

 

Victor babbled away as he unlaced his shoes, showered, even when the water drowned him out, coming back into the bedroom part of the room, and as they changed for the banquet. Yuri, now that he’d been taking the time to watch, saw it all as bubbles popping on the surface of a deeper mind. Victor was opaque, with a few mirrors that made you think he was clear, that you could see beneath and through. Yuri stood, taking a breath. 

 

“Victor… Victor!” He couldn’t restrain his anger when Victor didn’t respond immediately. 

 

“Yes, Yuri?” Victor smiled, amused, just one more thing to set Yuri’s blood boiling.

 

“You said you’d give me a program,” Yuri said. “But you could be my coach, too. I’m the best this year. You should retire this season, and do it.” 

 

The smile turned comically confused. “But why would I? Another year of skating! And I can’t coach and compete at the same time-”

 

Yuri yanked on Victor’s shirt, bringing him in close. “Because I want you to,” He growled, and kissed the man. Victor had frozen in surprise, but it didn’t take long for his lips to soften, responding to Yuri’s inexperienced motions. Yuri pulled back. “And you want to, too.” He was guessing here, going out on a limb, over thin ice, whatever. Yuri endured the breathless moments of silence that followed with grim determination. At least now he’d done everything he could to entice Victor. If this didn’t work, nothing would.

 

Victor’s look of mild shock was split in two by a beaming smile, all the more real for how fake the last one had been. “Oh, Yuri, what a wonderful surprise!” He leaned in again, and Yuri met the kiss this time, letting himself be consumed. 

 

Victor took control easily, running his hands down Yuri’s arms to push his wrists to the nearest wall. Victor had to bend over a bit to keep their mouths even, and Yuri liked that, enjoyed Victor lowering himself to Yuri’s level. It was surprisingly pleasurable. Victor knew how to kiss, and make it good. Yuri found himself imitating what he could figure out, trying to give the pleasure back. The low chuckle as Victor pulled back, a wicked smirk on his face, almost made Yuri lose his nerve, well aware he was out of his depth, but he knew what to do with nerves. 

 

“Tired already, old man?” he challenged. 

 

“Not at all, little boy.” Victor drew a finger under Yuri’s chin, tingling as it went, and Yuri couldn’t help his reaction, eyes almost closing in pleasure, his open lips still wet and cool from his panting breaths.

 

“I like you like this,” Victor mused, “You have no idea what you’re doing but you’re learning fast. Reminds me of me.” 

 

Yuri flared his eyes, drew up his head, squaring his posture, ready to fight. “Maybe I remind  _ you _ of you, but I’ll be better.”

 

“Of course you will,” Victor’s tone was offhanded, “The best, since I’m going to teach you everything I know.” He grinned suddenly, as though sharing a joke. “Me, a coach.” 

 

“If you suck at it I’m going back to Yakov.” Yuri leaned in, making the threat intimate. So what if he wanted to kiss some more, too?

 

“You act as if he’s not going to to insist on being a part of the process.” Victor’s voice dropped low, moderating the truth of his words. 

 

Yuri didn’t care about talking anymore. He leaned up, and Victor met him halfway, and they fell into a state where words weren’t needed. Victor led them to the bed, Yuri following the cues of his body. Of course, once they made it there, Yuri’s mind went into a frantic overdrive about what they could do there. This was success beyond his expectations, although he would never admit to not being perfectly confident outside of his head. 

 

He had Victor Nikiforov, five time world champion, international playboy, the idol of millions, and his new coach, sitting on a bed with him, kissing him. A hand stroked up his back, beneath the suit coat Yuri had yet to shed. It came down again, resting on his ass, and make that Victor Nikiforov, etc, etc, groping him. Shit. 

 

Then, almost as if the universe was rescuing Yuri, Yakov started pounding on the door, demanding they come out. 

 

“It shouldn’t take you that long to get dressed!” Yakov bellowed. “What are you doing in there?”

 

Yuri took a breath to shout back, possibly with the truth. The reaction would be worth it. 

 

But Victor cut him off at the pass, a hand pressed to his mouth. Yuri glared and tried to bite, but Victor was quicker, moving away and to the door before Yuri’s teeth could connect. Victor left Yuri’s sight from the bed, the tiny hallway between bedroom and bathroom hiding the door from view. When he cracked open the door, letting the too-bright lights of the outside hallway spill through, Yuri stayed on the bed, listening.

 

“Victor, you’re a mess. The banquet’s about to start. Straighten yourself out, get Yuri, and let’s go!” 

 

“Yuri’s...not feeling well, and I’m tired, Yakov. Surely we can miss just this once?”

 

Yakov’s harumph was familiar, and not promising. “You mean he’s snuck off to buy more hideous animal hides, if not eat terrible things, and you have a new lover in there.”

 

Yuri bit his lip, silencing his protest at this grossly unfair description of his tastes. He liked  _ cool _ things, thank you very much. But yes, if he had thought he could get away with it, he’d have gone out and bought whatever local street food looked good. Yuri might hate the projected outcome of the statement, but he  _ was _ a growing boy.

 

Victor didn’t reply verbally to Yakov’s jab, but Yuri could just imagine the body language, the darting eyes, the ingratiating smile, letting Yakov draw his own conclusions. 

 

A long-suffering sigh. “Fine! Fine. Just this once, I’ll let you off. Don’t expect it again!” 

 

“Thank you, Yakov.” Victor’s dazzling, delighted smile was obvious in his voice. The door shut with a click, then a thump of the bolt turning. Yakov’s muttered rant cutting off before it really got going.

 

Yuri watched as Victor came back, triumph obvious in his grin and swagger. He cocked his head at Yuri. “Now, where were we?” 

 

Yuri snorted at that. “Even I know that line sucks, old man.” 

 

Victor put a hand over his heart in a dramatic gesture. “You  _ wound _ me.” But he didn’t stop moving forward, and resumed his position in front of Yuri. 

 

Alright, time to swallow his nerves, and get down to business. “You do know I’m a virgin, right?” Yuri said, just to make it entirely clear. 

 

Victor hummed noncommittally. “I figured, considering how you kiss.” 

 

“Hey!” Yuri couldn’t help his reflexive response to criticism, at least of things not relating to skating.

 

A smirk. “Don’t worry, I had a man for the first time at your age, too. I am probably the best choice, considering.” 

 

“Yeah, well-”  Yuri stopped, not sure where he was going with this. 

 

Victor reached out to put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “We don’t have to do anything. I’ve agreed already, you know.” 

 

Yuri felt a sudden flare of anger at being found out. “Of course, I’m seducing you to make you coach me, this is all about the great Victor Nikiforov. I couldn’t possibly want anything else!” He stopped, panting, a little taken aback by his own vehemence.

 

Thank god, Victor was smiling again. “Well, when you put it that way, it does sound kind of self-centered…” He leaned in again. “Still, having to teach a virgin everything? I can’t decide if it would be utterly boring or the best surprise ever.” 

 

“I’ll show you boring,” Yuri spat, and met Victor halfway in as savage a kiss as he could manage.

 

Victor, thankfully, met him in kind. The kiss turned into a makeout session. They shed their jackets, hands eager to touch closer to skin. Yuri wasn’t trying to remember this forever, but he didn’t think he’d ever forget the sight of Victor Nikiforov underneath him, his shirt undone, crying out as Yuri rubbed him through the fabric of his pants. The best rush of the night wasn’t his own orgasm, although Yuri had to admit that maybe everyone else was obsessed for a reason, but watching Victor come apart under his own hands. When you came down to it, being responsible for someone else’s pleasure was almost as good as beating them. Almost. 

 

*&*&*

 

Obviously, they missed the banquet. 

 

From all accounts, Yuri was glad to have missed his namesake’s utter humiliation of himself. Pole dancing, really? Christophe was only too happy to share his photos, although Yuri covered his eyes and hummed loudly, utterly unwilling to watch, or listen, as Victor took it all in eagerly, ever the gossip whore.

 

And then Victor offered the stupid ass (seriously, the Japanese couldn’t come up with their own damn name that wasn’t Yuri?) a commemorative photo as they left, as if he were a perfectly respectable fan. Yuri rolled his eyes. Either Victor’s memory for faces was terrible, since he’d just seen the man pole dancing, or he wanted to get in his pants. Obviously, the other Yuri’s memory was not nearly as bad, and Yuri took a certain pleasure in seeing him retreat, radiating shame. With any luck he’d take Yuri's advice to quit the sport entirely, and stop disgracing their name. 

 

*&*&*

 

Victor started making arrangements immediately after the season ended, to Yuri’s delight, and almost everyone else’s dismay. 

 

“Training the next generation is a wonderful thing to do, of course, but Victor, surely you’re not done with skating entirely?” Yakov said, agast. His was only the first layer of reaction. Yakov behaved as expected, disbelieving Victor could coach a dog, much less the newest jewel in Russia’s crown. And oh yes, of course he was not allowed to ruin Yuri! Although Yuri kept it hidden, he quite enjoyed the tug of war that ensued over who would do what and when with him.

 

The Russian Skating Federation no doubt objected to Victor’s retirement, as did Victor’s corporate sponsors. And, of course, the press was relentless, dramatically shocked by the sudden turn! Yuri rolled his eyes at it all, and watched Victor instead. The man treated everything like a soap opera, high drama at every turn, pleased to have turned the world on its head. He was only ever serious about skating, and, it seemed, Yuri, now. 

 

Yuri couldn’t help the liquid purring pleasure he felt inside at that observation. He was getting exactly what he wanted, what he needed to be the best, and all he had had to do so far was some heavy petting. Yuri was sure there would be more in the future. In fact, he was planning more ‘surprises’ to keep Victor’s attention.

 

Victor just waved his hand, avoiding the questions with ease. Yuri had always been a bit jealous of how easy he made it look, dealing with the pressure. Yuri could deal with it, of course, by not giving a fuck about most people and things outside himself, but that made him vulnerable to the few he did care for, however grudgingly. He would just have to make sure his weaknesses were as strong as possible. His grandpa was utterly devoted. Yakov was solid. Victor was the weak link, and Yuri would shore him up, just give him time.

 

*&*&*

 

Yuri growled as Victor pulled his leg back just another fraction of an inch. It hurt, dammit. Victor responded with a benign smile, something Yuri could only see because of the mirrors lining the wall of the ballet studio. Victor had pulled him along today for a special one-on-one session. They were alone, the echoes of the room muted into intimacy between them. Yuri was fully inside his body now, mind and soul focused on the stretch of his muscles, Victor’s warm hand holding him in position. 

 

“You’re beautiful like this, Yuri, straining for something you can’t quite reach on your own,” Victor’s low voice rumbled softly in Yuri’s ear, “You train so hard for your body. Your technical skills are excellent, but...your mind, your heart, that’s where a true performance lies, did you know?” He stepped back, letting Yuri relax, and Yuri’s scoff was taken with his sigh of relief.

 

Yuri swung his leg around, letting the soreness dissipate. “You only say that because I am nearly technically perfect. If I couldn’t land a jump or hold a spin then it wouldn’t matter if my mind or  _ heart _ ,” he poured acid into the word, “was leading the way.” 

 

“Mm, perhaps, but without emotion, without a story to tell, you’re a robot, a mechanical nutcracker of a dancer.” Victor came up beside Yuri, leading him into a new series of stretches. “I’ll show you when we’re on the ice again, but really, you just have to watch Seung Gil. As far as I can tell, his only emotion is for winning. He might as well be a human calculator. There’s no poetry in him.” 

 

Yuri’s lips twisted, but he followed Victor anyway. Cool down completed, they walked to the showers, companionable silence filled with rushing water, the squeaking of old shower knobs, the gurgling of drains. Yuri was loathe to break the mood now, too aware that his usual complaints would only turn Victor off, when what he needed was to cement his position. With Victor showing him his secrets, and Yuri’s determination, he would be unstoppable. 

 

So he acquiesced to longer hair, let Victor braid it back, a pre-practice ritual that soothed them both, focusing their minds where they should be: on Yuri. He let Victor’s ridiculous ideas about storytelling and emotion wash over him, doing his best to latch onto the idea, the feeling of pure joy, or age and regret. 

 

“We need to pick your theme soon,” Victor said, lips pursed as he wove Yuri’s hair into submission. “I have a few ideas, but I’ll consider yours if you have any.” The semi-insulting comment stung more than Yuri’s hair being pulled too tightly. 

 

“Of course I have ideas!” He snapped, refusing to back down in the face of Victor’s mildly rebuking eyebrows. 

 

“Well, as I said, I’ll consider them, little boy.” Victor smirked, finishing off the braid with a thin band, the black contrasting against the thin blond strands. Yuri barely stopped himself from pulling it out, just to make Victor do it again. 

 

*&*&*

 

They hadn’t had much time for fooling around since returning home, Victor swamped with interviews about his newest career move, negotiating with his sponsors, even presiding over a new athletic center named after him. 

 

Yuri didn’t mind it much, honestly. Victor had been merciful the first time, letting Yuri set the pace, getting each other off without even removing all their clothes. But now they were entering the slight lull between seasons. The resting period that wasn’t actually a rest, as taking too much time off would negatively impact muscle tone and memory of whatever routines a skater might be building. 

 

They’d gone shopping a few times, out to eat, dates that looked like mentoring, a coach taking interest in his pupil’s well-being. They’d ended most nights with a few stolen kisses, well out of view of the public, but early rising for training meant early bedtimes. 

 

However, that didn’t mean Victor couldn’t take a half hour here and there for a bit of fun. 

 

“Yuuuuuri, c’mon. Just one little spank?”

 

Yuri settled his face into a stubborn glare, intending never to show just how alluring he found Victor when he begged. “I agreed to humiliate myself on the ice, not off it.” 

 

“Oh please, you’ve confessed your sins, surely you want just a bit of punishment?” Victor wheedled, his grin sly and tempting.

 

Sighing with greater amounts of reluctance than he actually felt, Yuri let himself be convinced. He had gone to confession today. A ridiculous ploy by Victor to get him to feel Agape. God’s love. Purity. Hah. Talking to a priest through a screen had nothing on this, though. He had been determined from the beginning to keep Victor’s attention, and if this was what it took...

 

He almost couldn’t convince his limbs to crawl into Victor’s lap. Hyperaware of his body and the outside air, pulling his pants down was excruciating, even though Yuri could feel his cock hardening at this. He arched his back, unwilling to let Victor feel it too. Hell, he hadn’t even made Victor take his clothes off, he realized belatedly. 

 

“Hmm…” Victor’s voice resonated in his chest, something Yuri felt, only a thin layer of air and fabric between them. A tug came at Yuri’s pants, which were barely past his ass, touching the tops of his thighs. “I want these lower.” 

 

Yuri could feel a blush spreading on his cheeks. The burning warmth only got worse as he wriggled, picturing just how it looked, him shaking his ass as he pushed his pants down.

 

A warm hand pushed Yuri down, and he had to bite his lip to keep from whining as his cock touched Victor’s jeans, the soft fabric almost too rough against oversensitive skin. “Better.” Victor matched word and motion, running his hand over Yuri’s ass and thigh approvingly, and Yuri gasped as he dragged his fingers back up, soft and tingling. 

 

The first impact was soft, barely stinging. It made a noise though, which made Yuri want to jump, to look around, intensely aware that even the best apartments shared walls. He restrained himself, taking breaths through his nose. Even Yakov couldn’t complain about his self-discipline. 

 

Victor had apparently decided to take his time, each blow an easy, measured thing. Eventually Yuri started to relax, getting used to the noise, his skin warming up slowly enough that he barely noticed. He’d started to get bored, moving a bit to goad Victor on, when Victor finally started in earnest. The first real spank stung, but it also felt good. Yuri had been learning about erogenous zones, and apparently, his ass was one of them. 

 

Victor’s hand came down harder now, enough for Yuri to let out a small noise, his body moving without his conscious intent. Victor hummed again, stroking, kneading the skin he’d just hit, spreading the warmth there. Yuri couldn’t keep in his moan, pushing back into the touch. Victor laughed softly. Yuri felt like he was burning up from the outside in, but dug his hands into Victor’s thigh, claws that would never let him go.

 

Yuri was determined that he would not be a boring virgin. Thankfully, Victor seemed to be on board with the plan.

 

*&*&*

 

Victor’s short program on the theme of love. Selfless, godlike love, no less, that filled Yuri with a sort of demented frustration. The program was technically demanding, with few to no pauses to breathe between elements, and then he was supposed to show how much he loved...the world? At the same time? It was ridiculous. It was a genuine challenge. Yuri hated it, but also couldn’t help a twisted admiration for Victor’s genius at this. It was true that no one was going to expect the “Russian Punk” to show off his innocence. And that surprise would create a higher artistic score. Assuming, of course, he could manage to capture the emotion. Yuri’s admiration of Victor’s acting ability was rising against his will, considering the man had little to no innocence left, Yuri was sure of that.

 

And innocence seemed to include boundaries as a coach. 

 

“Yuuuuri…” 

 

Yuri closed his eyes and prayed to any deity listening that Victor would suddenly disappear in a poof of glittery smoke. There was silence. Yuri opened his eyes to Victor pouting adorably. Damn, it had been worth a try. 

 

“No, you cannot invade my grandpa’s house. He is old, he will die of shock. No.” Yuri tried for stern, but mostly came out sounding tired. It was a good thing that Victor was taking his coaching duties seriously, but really, meeting his guardian? This conversation had already been going on for five minutes. The more Yuri said no, the whinier Victor seemed to get.

 

“But I’m your coach! I should know everything about you, including where you grew up.. I’ve already met him, after all…” 

 

At least the weird-ass shit like visiting local cathedrals and steam baths followed by freezing dunks stopped as soon as Yuri allowed them to meet, and the contrast between the two made Agape finally  _ click _ . Feeling the theme, however, didn’t make the program any easier to skate.

 

*&*&*

 

Yakov, for all his dramatic and full-voiced tendencies - things Yuri admired when not directed at him - had been a coach for a long time, with all the experience in noticing the tiniest of details that entailed. So, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to be called into Yakov’s office one day, early on, and grilled about just how close he and Victor were getting.

 

“So, you and Victor.” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

His eyes narrowing, Yakov spoke the next words as deliberately as setting off a bomb. “You are...intimate.” 

 

“Oh my god, Yakov.” Yuri refused to hide his head in his hands, but was grateful he’d shaken out his ponytail earlier. He could hide behind his hair without looking like he was anything other than pissed off.

 

Yakov’s lips thinned. “You’ve asked me to treat you as an adult, so I shall, in this. You’ve been discreet, which I appreciate, but are you certain this is a good relationship you are in?”

 

Yuri took a deep breath. “It’s fine, Yakov, nothing to worry about.” 

 

“Let me guess, you have it all under control.” Yakov’s tone was drier than snow in deep winter.

 

“Yes! Yes, I do,” Yuri insisted. He refused to pause and reconsider. “I initiated. He’s followed my lead, mostly. He’s been...good.” Yuri pushed out the last bit, realizing Yakov wouldn’t let it go without some further reassurance. 

 

And it worked, visible in lines easing around Yakov’s mouth, his forehead. “Very well, continue if you must, but should things turn...I am here,” Then he paused, the silence making Yuri pay attention far better than any words, “I hope you know I would not see you hurt, Yura.” 

 

Yuri felt his eyes go wide, and could not bring himself to reply, certain his voice would crack.

 

Yakov huffed, and waved him out. “Go.” 

 

Yuri left as quickly as he could without running.

 

*&*&*

 

Yuri had considered himself flexible, and then Yakov had introduced them to his wife. Prima Ballerina Lilia Baranovskaya was a harsh, demanding mistress of the barre. 

 

Victor came the first few times, gamely joining in as they stretched, bounced, danced, twirling across the floor with pinpoint precision. He was distracted then, focused on his own body, and Yuri did his best to lure Victor’s attention away with his own attempts at perfection.

 

When he could get away with it (not often), he’d whisper dirty things in Victor’s ear, which only led, to Yuri’s masked delight, to retaliation. Yuri almost didn’t mind that it made him blush furiously, stumble, and then the shouting would begin.

 

After a few times of that, Yuri usually went without Victor, drilled relentlessly in positions, pushed until he could do the splits to her satisfaction, able to spin and pose to her exact specifications. 

 

Thankfully, Victor was better focused on the ice, his attention drawn to their shared profession, and Yuri was critiqued within an inch of his life. Victor demanding emotion, artistry, a story told through his body and steps, which of course had to be backed up with technical precision. Yuri knew he had the capacity even as he struggled, he knew he did. The emotions were hard, but he conquered each move over and over until his body did what they had told it to, until he could dance, a prima ballerina in his own right, his arms beautiful enough to make the other students weep. 

 

*&*&*

 

The end, when it came, was far less predictable than the beginning. At first, it looked like a pathetic, homemade video. An overweight skater performing a routine not his own, to no music, in a decrepit rink. Yuri, when he saw it, wrinkled his nose. “Pig,” he muttered, turning it off before the first half was over. Victor had skated it better. 

 

At least, Yuri mused, it meant that the other one had well and truly given up. You didn’t learn a rival’s routine in order to compete. You didn’t let yourself go like that if you were trying to make a comeback. One less competitor in the field only meant something good for him, when you came down to it. 

 

Second, it manifested as distraction. Victor looking at his phone instead of Yuri. Staying home instead of going on their regular after-practice food run. Yuri responded, finally initiating the final step. And god, sex with Victor was more than he could have expected. The memories of their first time had faded enough to make the second a surprise. A passionate reminder. That seemed to work, at least for a week or two, Victor refocusing on Yuri, demanding more of him. Yuri complied, relaxed enough with their relationship to complain, even as he did his best. 

 

But the last, and the worst, was Victor letting Lilia choreograph his free skate after a protracted battle over it. It was the apology he said, distracted and flighty enough to be insincere, as he packed his things for a flight made on a whim. 

 

“I have to go to him, Yuri, don’t you understand?” 

 

“No, I don’t!” Yuri shouted, past giving a shit about neighbors who might hear. “He’s a failure, Victor. I’m a winner, I’m right here. Why-”  _ am I not good enough for you? _ He couldn’t finish the sentence. 

 

“You don’t understand. We’ve been talking. He  _ sings _ to me, Yuri. His program, it broke my heart-” 

 

Yuri boiled over with rage. “So you’re going to break mine!” The words echoed in his ears. He hadn’t meant to say that. 

 

And there it was, that damnable compassion, the soft streak that had let Yuri set the pace from the beginning. “I’m sorry, little one.” 

 

“No!” Yuri couldn’t take another moment of this, and ran. Out the door, down the stairs. It wasn’t enough, so he just kept going. People looked at him, startled, as he blew past them, hair flying. Eventually he stopped, found a private enough corner, and closed his eyes against the tears, sobs tearing out of him, quieter than his actual pain. He didn’t know, didn’t care how long it had been, by the time he was done, empty of grief, left with only his anger. 

 

Yuri knew what to do with anger. So he went home, washed his face, changed his clothes, and made his way to the rink. It was a rest day, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the scrape of the ice. The burning of his muscles as he threw himself in the air, over and over again, until he was falling more than landing. Then he practiced footwork, spins, utterly inside his body, outside his mind. 

 

Yakov was out on the ice, as Yuri completed yet another passage, legs almost too heavy to lift. The incongruity of it startled Yuri. Yakov never came out on the ice. Yuri had no time to brace for sympathy, and he didn’t receive any. 

 

“Are you insane? You will come and sit down this instant, you stupid boy. You will strain something. You know overwork does no one any good. I don’t care if that brainless idiot has up and left us in a lurch...” The rant continued, and Yuri followed Yakov off the ice, for once, listening to every word. 


End file.
